After All
by mike930
Summary: An AU fic set 9 years from Graduation. Willow's a screenwriter and Xander's an archeologist. Will these two idiots ever take the next step?


After All

May, 2008

The quiet darkness of early morning had always been slow to lift in the sleepy town of Sunnydale. The dry air seemed to retain the cool, regenerative night feeling longer here than other California towns and the sun seemed reluctant to show it's face. Today wasn't any exception to this unspoken rule as the line between day and night slowly blurred.

But just like every other day here, nature inevitably won over its prodigal star and light began to heat the cool night air to it's full temperature. Like a specter edging toward its victim, a solid wall of light washed across the half-awake town. Peeking over the eastern sky, its rays first fell upon the outskirts of the little city and a sign reading, ironically, "Now Leaving Sunnydale. Come Again!"

The unstoppable illumination continued its march across the town, giving light to a new high school and an un-impressive town hall, a big building with a neon sign bearing the town's name, a magic store, a neighborhood. Street upon street and house upon house lit under the dawn glow until, finally, the light came across a big new house at the edge of town. The newly resurrected sun, having completed it's job (for now), could breathe easy.

The occupant of the big new house could also breathe easy under the blanket of sleeps. The shades were shut tightly in a (futile) effort to prolong sleep for as long as possible. Although neatly organized and a little sparse, the room had the homey, lived-in feeling of someone who'd spent a lot of time inside. It wasn't small—the house itself was massive—but the room's decorator had managed to avoid the cavernous air of a big empty room.

A dresser and desk dominated the outskirts of the room while a queen-sized bed sat happily in a corner. The panda-bear covers were completely drawn over a sleeping figure in the bed, drowning out all noise and light. The little table beside the bed held a lamp and—surprise!—an alarm clock.

The single ray of sunlight that had penetrated the dark room now fell upon the clock. It was a fashioned after a large, green frog with green neon numbers scrolling across its chest. An instant later the numbers changed to read 6:30 and the frog sprang to life.

"CROAK!"

The prone figure literally jumped out of bed. "GET 'EM OFF ME!! GET 'EM..." Realizing that her bed was not under siege by an army of vicious bullfrogs, Willow trailed off. She placed a hand over her heart, trying with all her will to stop its pounding. She looked at the clock with a mix of revulsion and acceptance, picking the time out from its chest. She screamed again.

"Damn!" The curse was pitched at much higher than normal as she frantically reached for a shirt and jeans resting idly across a chair. The redhead pulled them on quickly, cursing again as she noticed that the shirt was inside-out.

Stumbling down the stairs in a just-woken-up haze, Willow snagged her purse from its resting place on the hand-rail. She slipped on a pair of thong-sandals and shuffled towards the house's spacious garage.

Her eyes darted from one car (an archaic but beautiful black '75 Corvette) to the other (a blue Mini-Cooper). "Speed... fuel efficiency... fast... reliable... save time... save the earth... speed... _fuel efficiency_..." she trailed off desperately as the pressing time constraints took hold. "Speed," she finished hollowly, pulling the corvette's door open and reluctantly firing it up.

Willow pulled out quickly, clicking the garage shut and shifting gears with an unexpected familiarity. The engine red-lined before she popped the beast into first. Willow switched the radio over to the local NPR station as she raced along the mean streets of Sunnydale.

"In other news, the discovery of a previously unknown burial chamber at the dig site in Teotihuacan, the City of the Gods, has led to a massive international feud over the rights to the artifacts inside. The American team, led by Doctor..." Willow smiled, switching over to a hard rock station.

"Next for you early people, we've got a little music from Ozzy Osbourne next. Yes, the Prince of Fuc... yeah, boss, I know I can't say... fine. The Prince of _F-ing_ Darkness is coming back to the Sunnydale area, and we'd like to touch it off with a little old school."

Willow laughed with a kind of dramatic irony as the opening strains to "Mama, I'm Coming Home" began pulsing from the Vette's speakers. She turned the volume up as she roared onto the highway (get the number) at 95 MPH. Cops were never a problem around here... but then she'd never been pulled over, either, so it was with some trepidation that Willow put more pressure on the gas.

Traffic was always bad in California, Willow knew that. She'd expected that unchangeable rule to remain... well, unchanged for her trip out to the airport. Again, though, the cosmos threw another surprise her way.

The road was empty.

Well, not empty in the sense of post-apocalypse Mad-Max empty, but still very, _very_ sparse for southern California. Willow's watch buzzed as the digits ticked over to 7:00. She whimpered, punching the gas even more as the speedometer raced upwards.

"Sorry... sorry... sorry..." Willow's face fell into an approximation of desperation.

The Corvette pulled rapidly into the 30 min. parking lot at Sunnydale International Airport and Willow stepped out. Almost an hour late. Well, he could forgive her that.

Willow sprinted towards the circular terminal entrance, groaning in frustration as the security checkpoint line crawled forward at the (normally) agonizing pace.

Her turn finally came. With pleading eyes and the slightly pouting lips she _knew_ the guards loved, Willow innocently said in a ditzy-shy girl air "Yes, I know I've gotta check in but... I'm kinda late." The balding white guy (Cordelia had once noted that they seemed to flock to the security profession) behind the counter made a clicking sound with his tongue... but nodded her through.

Willow smiled broadly and stepped through the gate. The baggage claim was fifteen gates away, and the redhead took off in a sprint. She panted slightly as she reached the conveyor belt but didn't see her friend anywhere. A tap on the shoulder drew a yelp and caused her to whirl around, fists ready, only to see...

Xander laughing. Well, that was a welcome sight. Willow laughed lightly and examined her house-mate quickly. He was wearing the carpenter's pants and t-shirt he always seemed to wear at work, and he carried a rucksack over a shoulder. Willow hugged him tightly.

"Sorry I was late, Wills."

Willow looked at him confusedly. "Huh? Didn't you get in an hour ago?"

Xander laughed. "Nah, flight was held over in San Diego. Something about record rainfall." He raised his eyebrows comically. "I think someone saw a cloud and declared a state of emergency."

The redhead laughed, quickly covering the fact that she, too, had just arrived. "Well I suppose that's alright. You know _I _was on time at least."

"Gotta have the moral superiority, huh Willow."

"You know it. So how was Mexico, Doctor Harris?"

Willow had been quiet the drive back, sitting idly in the passenger seat as Xander rattled off the details of his team's discovery. "We were inside the Sun pyramid, Willow. It's gorgeous... but a little golden disc I'd found opened an entire sub-level _below_ the city. I'm going back in a few days but... do you wanna come?"

Willow's face fell. "I thought you were staying for longer."

Xander sighed. "I just uncovered a burial chamber from the dawn of time and _you_ want me to stay here?" He laughed. "How can I refuse?"

Willow's head snapped around. "Really? 'Cause I know Doctor Renneaux really needs you and you really love your work and stuff but that house gets really lonely without you around and so I thought that maybe..."

"Willow?" An amused air crept back into his voice.

"Huh?"

"Were you planning on inhaling at some point?"

The redhead smiled as she took a gulp of air. "How long are you in for?"

Xander scratched his head. "The Boss man told me to, and I quote, 'Take as long as you want.' Which leads me to be very suspiciously grateful." He faced her. "My offer stands."

"I'm not really an outsidey kinda person..."

Xander looked her in the eyes, which immediately darted elsewhere. He shrugged. "Whatever you say. How's the screenplay coming?"

Willow had discovered a writing obsession sometime in her sophomore year of college, an obsession that had quickly led to some raised eyebrows from USD's film school. Now, seven years later, Willow had the credits on a series of brilliantly successful films ranging from a fluffy romantic comedy to a noir revival film to, most recently, two frighteningly insightful horror films. Of the four, the horror scripts had been the most fun (and, given her background on the Hellmouth, the easiest) to write. She'd been suffering from a massive period of writers' block for over a week now, but with the return of the man who provided plenty of her light (and, occasionally, dark) humor, Willow was hoping to give it another try. She shrugged.

"Stuck on the plot."

"Oh, so about normal then." His eyes darted from the road to her now annoyed face. Xander smiled and continued in a softer, more reassuring voice. "You'll get it. These things never last _too_ long."

Willow smiled. Xander had a habit of being almost cruel at times, then erasing all the hurt with a smile and a soft word. It was one of his more endearing qualities, she thought, although not quite as endearing as the fun loving grin spread across his face while speeding.

"So what's on the agenda? Do I cook?"

Willow snorted ruefully. "Do I look crazy?"

"Sometimes."

"OK, then yes." Willow rolled her eyes, hating to admit to the fact that Xander actually _was_ a good cook. Among other things. "Actually, Cordy invited us over. She and Oz probably have some big news."

"What do you think, some jewelry?"

"Probably. They're pretty much already there."

"Believe me, the way to Cordy's heard lies through expensive looking items. And, occasionally, flattery." Willow laughed.

"You'd know."

"Eh." Xander shrugged. "On the other hand, I also know how to turn that heart completely against me, so maybe I'm not quite the expert I claim to be."

"Then again... no, you're probably right." Willow winked at her easily distracted friend. "But hey, any guy who can play with that kind of fire and not get burned is probably alright."

"How did I not get burned, again?"

"Well, you're alive for starters..." Willow allowed the grin she felt to spread completely across her young features. "That's gotta count for something."

"Point. Every day is a gift after Cordelia." He smiled ironically before going on. "Maybe Oz can figure out what to do with her."

Willow wasn't really surprised at the wistful tone that crept into his voice. He'd dated a couple other women since high school, never really connecting with any of them. Well, except on a purely physical level. Rumor had it that he was quite good at that. On the other hand, she could sympathize with the loneliness she sometimes noticed in his dark eyes. Times like that made her wonder at the way their own friendship had managed, with some effort on her part, at least, to remain platonic. The relationship was safe as long as neither took that next step. Willow sighed dramatically. "I'm sure he can think of _something_" She looked at Xander. Xander looked at her.

The laughter echoed from their car the rest of the trip home.

"Xander! You came!" Cordelia hugged her friend eagerly as he, and Willow, walked through the threshold of their house. "And you're early!"

Xander grinned. "Glad to be back in Sunny-Dee. And even gladder to be seeing you." She kissed his cheek happily.

"Hey Cordelia." Willow stood back a few paces from Xander, but Cordy crossed the distance instantly to hug her other friend.

"Willow!" The redhead hugged her friend awkwardly.

"What's up Oz?"

The guitarist smirked. "Brothers don't shake hands..."

Xander smiled widely, moving to the sumo position. "Brothers gotta hug!" The girls smiled in a confused, accepting way as the two made the stomping move before embracing.

"Welcome back my man!"

"You too. Tour's finished, right?"

Oz's band, now simply named Dingo, had just finished it's cross-continent tour for their hugely successful 5th album. _Lullaby_, the title of their newest and still #1 cd, had just gone multi-platinum. Now, after nearly a year of touring, though, Oz was home. And Cordelia couldn't have been happier.

After Willow and Oz's breakup in their second year of college, the newly single guitarist had sought out Cordelia for the rebound. Cordelia, then an acting major, had been lonely after her breakup with—of all people—Angel. She'd gone into the relationship with a hopeful, if cautious, attitude and had wanted to take things slow. That was fine for Oz. Willow knew just how patient the werewolf could be when something mattered to him.

That was almost six years ago, she thought. The way that her friends, her relationships, and the relationships between them seemed to constantly change... it never ceased to amaze her. Oz and Cordelia were very much in love, though, so the dynamic between the two had more or less remained constant.

"Oh yeah man. I'm on vacation."

"Me too."

"How long? With a find like yours, they'll need you back right away."

Xander shrugged. "I thought maybe a week, week and a half at the most. I wanted to bring Willow with me, but someone had other ideas." He cast an accusing glare at the redhead.

"Uh, hey! Work of my own!"

"Oh, go with him. It's not like you don't want to." Thank God for Cordy, Xander thought.

"But... but..."

"He'd understand if you were scared, of course," Oz chimed in. "Nothing wrong with being afraid of new places and things."

Willow glared at the happy couple. "Traitors."

"Oh, no," Cordy breathed.

"Of course not."

"We just want what's best for you."

"And dark basement screenplays, though brilliant, are not better for you than a little Latin heat."

Xander pulled out his wallet and slipped the pair an ATM card. "The PIN is 3151..." He stopped as the other three burst into giggles. Or, in Oz's case, a good natured snort of amusement.

Willow threw her hands in the air. "Fine, fine. Off to Mexico for me."

The front door opened, unannounced, as a short blonde rushed inside. Giles remained holding his hand out as if he'd been interrupted in the act of knocking. "Anya, it is always nice to let the home owners know we're here."

She turned on him. "They did invite us, correct?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"So they shouldn't be surprised."

He rubbed his head. "You've been mortal for almost a decade, dear, and yet politeness still seems to be a foreign concept with you."

"And you're just too anxious to give lessons, Rupert. Now, then..." She hugged Cordelia and Oz warmly in turn. "It's good to see you." She stuck her tongue out at Giles while embracing Cordelia. Her husband rolled his eyes.

Cordelia ushered the guests into the dining room. A high ceilinged room adjacent to the well-stocked kitchen, the dining room always felt a little... off. Almost too formal for a group of close friends like these.

Dawn Summers was already seated at the large round dinner table and waved to the newcomers. Then, with the boundless enthusiasm of a 21 year-old woman, she crossed the distance and gave first Willow, then Xander, a tight hug.

Xander noticed that she squeezed him during their embrace, a sign of the friendship the two shared. In a way, he was more of a sibling to her than Buff had ever been. When the blonde slayer had left town during college, Dawn had instinctively reached out to Xander for support and comfort. The bond they shared was close and treasured by both of them. Dawn had even decided (much to the unease of her long-suffering mother) that she wanted to follow in Xander's footsteps as an archeologist. In an effort to make this dream a reality, she'd been asking him about coming to the dig site when term was over.

But, as close as they were, Xander couldn't replace her sister, and had never tried. He and Dawn were friends. Much better friends than he'd ever been with her sister.

Xander idly reflected on the fact that he hadn't physically seen Buff in over a year. They'd talked a few times on the rare occasions when she called, but otherwise all his ties with the blonde were cut. Willow had flown to LA a few months before to visit the ex-slayer and had said she looked well. Xander had wished her luck when she'd left to become the personal trainer of the stars. She'd need it, he thought, living with the ex-vampire named Spike.

Now that was a match made in Hell. Oddly enough, it was due to their bond that they were able to attach the letters ex to their former titles. They'd saved the world more than enough; Xander had been the first to point out that, for once, the universe hadn't royally screwed them over.

But just because the blonde had earned her happy ending didn't mean that Xander didn't miss her.

The younger woman spoke. "Hey, guys... I've got a surprise for both of you." Behind the pair, Oz, Cordelia and Giles exchanged knowing winks as Anya idly stared at the ceiling. "You can come in now."

A soft knocking sounded from the kitchen door and in walked... Spike. Xander gave him a quizzical look for a moment before realizing, with wide eyes and open mouth, that where the bleach-blonde was, there followed...

"Hi, guys." Willow jumped as the purring salutation from her friend sounded behind her. Sure enough, there the former slayer stood in all her diminutive glory.

"Miss me?"

A safe place is invaluable to any writer, Willow thought. What good was inspiration if the surroundings weren't comfortable? That was the purpose of her personal Fortress of Solitude, as Xander had dubbed it, more commonly known as her office.

It was dark, as usual, which was exactly how she liked it. The subterranean room branched off from the basement's main room along the south wall—directly below the front door—into an area that could have served as a lounge or nuclear shelter if the purpose served.

The walls were a dark blue shade, not quite navy but not quite royal either, and the carpet was a soft, light blue affair. A mini-fridge sat behind the desk and directly beside the filing cabinets Xander used for his work. Soft music constantly played in the background as the writer commonly hailed as the Savior of Modern Horror went to work.

She looked around at the movie posters for her previous two films. Dead Man Walking, the first one, had been particularly difficult in the beginning due to her unfamiliarity with the genre as a whole. Willow was a fast learner, fortunately, and her own intimate knowledge of what went bump in the night proved invaluable to her efforts. Dead Man's Hand had been no problem at all.

Central to both was the innocently sinister Dr. Emmanuel Death. Not that she'd ever visit an M.D. with such a name (superstition wasn't exactly her thing, but Willow felt that she had to draw the line somewhere), but for the purposes of weaving morally ambiguous tales around the sometimes gray areas of modern medicine... Dr. Death worked perfectly.

The last night's dinner had held several surprises, as it turned out. Besides the expected announcement of Oz and Cordelia's impending matrimony, a whole new world opened up when Buff and Spike announced that they were moving back to Sunnydale in a month's time.

And then, to cap off an evening of surprises for Giles... Anya had unexpectedly announced that the two of them would be having a child in a few month's time. Giles had been enraged that he wasn't the first to know ("You never asked," Anya had explained), then ecstatic at the news, then comatose as he fainted from the shock. Xander had summed the night up by commenting wryly that he hadn't even been hit lately. To which Cordelia, to the embarrassment of both Willow and Xander, suggested that they jump on the bandwagon and take another step in their relationship.

Even Anya had privately summed up the feelings of what she had termed "everyone else": "You're already pretty much married, Willow, except for the sex. Might as well make it official. And include the sex."

In the corner of the room, sprawled in a plush armchair with a book ("Romeo and Juliet," Willow noted idly), Xander chuckled quietly. Willow looked from her writing to her best friend. "What's so funny?"

Xander shook his head in the small amount of light. "These characters are stupid."

Willow's brow creased in an annoyed frown. "How so?"

He shrugged. "If they wanted to be together, to hell with everything else. Run away. Elope." He smiled. "Go to Vegas for all I care. Why do the people in these things always kill themselves?"

"That's why it's a tragedy, Xander. No one likes a happy ending." Well, except maybe me, she thought with a twinge of bitterness. The trouble was that they were hard to come by.

Xander grinned. "I do."

Willow covered the sharp intake of breath she felt at his words with a laugh. "Well, you're a weird archeologist guy. No one likes you."

A hurt look appeared across his face. "Aww. Not even my Willow?"

It was a good thing he couldn't see her face, Willow thought, silently thanking her own taste for low light. If he'd been able to, the lie wouldn't hold for even a second. Willow chuckled. "Nah. But I love you anyways."

A neutral poker face appeared across her friends features, she noted, although for a split second she saw—or maybe wanted to see—a very lonely, almost desperate look flash in his dark eyes.

Xander had lived several places during college, including hotels, dorms, and, once, his parents basement. He'd held many jobs and enjoyed the company of many friends—and girlfriends—during his tenure at the University of Sunnydale. But he hadn't been anywhere near her.

Willow had felt hurt for a long while as the various people in her life walked in and out of it with impunity. They were their own persons and it was a free country, or so she'd thought in an effort at rationalizing their abandoning her. But in her heart... she was lonely.

It was just after their college graduation that Xander had re-established contact with his oldest friend. She'd seen him a few times in the four year interim, although those had mostly been in the context of the Scooby gang reunions Buff had periodically held. When they had finally touched base that weekend in June of 2003, Willow had been amazed at the changes separation had wrought in her friend.

He looked taller than high school, Willow noticed, and stronger as well. That, he'd explained, was the desirable side effect of holding down several jobs at a time (including construction worker and carpenter's apprentice). More than physical, Willow had noticed the changes in his personality as well. He was still her Xander—nothing could change that, he'd once said—but he carried himself with a poise and confidence that one can only gain through trials and, ultimately, a strong sense of accomplishment. He was quieter now and joked less (which wasn't an entirely bad thing—his old jokes had occasionally gotten on her nerves), but the affectionate caring and love in his dark eyes was the same as always. And it was that, more than anything else, that made him Xander.

Though Xander held a doctorate in both general archeology and Meso-American studies, it was ironically a talent that couldn't entirely be learned that had paid for his college. Xander had a natural gift for woodworking. He loved the smell of it, the feel of it. He loved cutting it up and putting it back together as an ornate chest or a bookshelf or—well, with Xander, the possibilities was literally endless.

Willow envied him that; though her scripts were the talk of Hollywood today, she carried deep inside her heart the nagging fear intrinsic to writers that tomorrow, maybe, the quality of her work wouldn't be as high. With Xander, skill seemed to flow from some place in his hands as much as in his heart. Willow's work was all in the mind. And although it was an exceptionally brilliant and creative mind... it was still vulnerable to sickness or moodiness or anything else under the sun.

She'd once felt _certain_ that she belonged with Oz. Now, her one solid romantic relationship was marrying her best friends ex. Very, very messy. But they would be alright. Oz and Cordelia would be faithful, after their own fashion, and Willow envied their almost storybook love. Unbidden, a lyric from _The Princess Bride_ echoed inside her head:

_Now he said, "Don't you know I love you oh so much  
And lay my heart at the foot of your dress?"  
She said, "Don't you know that these storybook loves  
Always have a happy ending?"  
_

Storybook love was possible, she thought, but as the movie had said before, not one couple in a century has that chance. Could it possibly exist between the dark haired man in the corner and herself, Willow wondered? Could she have the chance at perfect, unrestrained and above all true love with the man who haunted not only her every day life, but her dreams as well?

Willow doubted it. Since their decision to live as house-mates three years ago, they had, to all extents and purposes, stopped dating. That didn't necessarily mean that they could move successfully from close friendship to a romantic and, possibly, permanent relationship. Willow wanted more, but she still carried the terror at losing everything they had. The Fluke of their senior high school year had taught her that, if you took the risk you did, indeed, stand to loose it all. And although it broke her heart to admit it, Willow would rather take the safe way than risk it all. Fortune favors the bold, it was said. But that didn't necessarily mean that the allure of happiness could turn the naturally un-bold around to seek it.

But was that flicker of powerful and deep emotion she though she'd seen seconds before enough to take the chance? Xander was lonely; she was lonely. Xander had, except for a few purely physical relationships, stopped dating after they moved in together; she had done basically the same thing. She loved him, and for all she knew, he might feel the same...

If there was only some way to be sure that the revelation of her true feelings wouldn't damage everything. I wish I could read minds the redhead thought ruefully.

I wish I could read her mind. 

Xander didn't need to examine her words too closely to notice the powerful thought raging through his mind that said "Let it be true." Despite the desire for something more with his best friend, Xander carefully hid his thoughts behind the face he'd crafted, originally, to beat his excavation team in poker.

His relationship with Willow was the one thing he refused to gamble. The words of the unknown baseball fan—"You can't steal second with your foot on first"—came unbidden into his mind and forced the young man to wonder. What if? he thought. What if it works and we live in bliss for the next century? What if everything works out and all my dreams come true? 

But from another, less optimistic portion of his mind came a darker question. What if it freaks her out and we lose everything? Xander shook his head and smiled.

"Anyways, the sword-fighting's always cool in these things."

Willow rolled her eyes. Typical Xander reaction, right there.

"Let's watch a movie." The words were out of her mouth before she realized she'd said them. She had work to do! And Xander probably wouldn't want to watch some girlie movie with her anyways, and besides...

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. I'll get the snacks, you get the movie."

A thrilled feeling came over Willow as she trotted over to their DVD collection. Now what movie to watch? 

"A wave of love swept over them. And as they reached for each other..."

Xander smirked as the redhead's voice echoed softly over the rich, grating voice of Peter Falk.

"Willow?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you know that you're saying all the lines?"

"Shush." Well, what _was_ wrong with knowing the movie by heart?

"Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one... left them all behind. The end."

"Aww."

"We really, really need to get lives."

She turned to face him. "We really, really do."

Lost in the longing expression set across her face, Xander shook his head. "So why is it that I don't want to?"

He was looking at her with an expression not so dissimilar to those that Wesley and Buttercup had. Then the magic fell away as the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it."

"No, no... I'll get it." Willow shook her head and stood. Damn that bell! 

"Willow."

The doorbell had sounded only two times before the redhead answered. Oddly enough, it was Xander's father Jack on the other side. His presence surprised her. The father and his son had reached an understanding a few years before (Jack had reconsidered his position on his son as Xander worked his three-job way through college and became a respected archeologist) and were, as far as she knew, on the best terms of either of their lives. Willow was startled by the fact that he appeared to be completely sober Apparently old dogs can learn new tricks, she thought with amusement as she ushered him inside.

Willow studied Xander's father briefly, wondering at the man's lineage. He didn't resemble his son at all, except maybe in the way he occasionally smiled. His eyes were cold and blue, like a snake's, and his thinning brown hair seemed perennially cut short. Willow knew he was strong (she'd once seen him lift a massive steel beam singlehandedly as it trapped a co-worker), but Jack Harris had a taller, more stretched out appearance than his son. He was handsome, even as he approached retirement, but the unusually distinct lines around his mouth payed their humble testament to the man's suffering.

Willow stepped back downstairs and into her office as Xander embraced his father.

"What's happening dad?" Xander smiled as he pulled a pair of Cokes from the fridge. "Did you get lost? And why are you here at eleven at night?"

The older man chuckled richly, a rough, unfinished sound that left listeners with the impression that it was a recently re-discovered talent. Whatever had changed inside his father's head, Xander thanked God for it every day. Life was much easier when your old man was on your side.

"Is it so wrong for a father to be proud of his boy?" Jack smiled with paternal affection, twisting his lips into a not-yet-perfected-expression. "I saw the dig on the news. Believe me, the other guys are still impressed." He winked. "And so am I, son."

Xander smiled at his father. "But that's not why you're here."

Jack sipped his coke thoughtfully. "No, no it's not."

Xander waited for his father to collect whatever thoughts he was thinking. Sighing, Jack went on after a pause of a minute or so.

"Your grandmother's sick."

The three words slowly sank into Xander's conscious mind. "How bad is it?"

Jack grimaced. "She's got a little time left. Maybe a day, two at the most." Jack patted his son's shoulder affectionately. "Thanks for the drink, son." He smiled sadly. "Room 228. She's asleep and probably won't wake up... but if you want to see her..." He trailed off. "Tell Willow I said goodbye. Congratulations again on your find."

Xander's father hugged his son gently, surprising both of them. His eyes watered as he left the house. "I love you, son."

Xander watched after him for a long time before whispering "You too, dad."

The worst thing about hospitals, Xander reflected, was the smell. Or, more accurately, the lack of any kind of scent in the stale air. Giles had once remarked, although not to him, that smell was a powerful stimuli for the recollection of memories. This one was too familiar to him.

The last time he'd been here, it was Buff lying comatose on the perfectly cleaned hospital beds, an IV needle in her arm slowly resuscitating the blonde with donated blood. It was always Buff in here, he thought. Always. She was the one who took the hits, took the worst life could send her way and laughed at it. And, afterwards, she was always the one who paid the price.

Still, after all her struggles... Buffy at least had happiness.

The frail woman before him, on the other hand, had never received the break she'd rightfully earned. Which only went to show, Xander thought, that more often than not things didn't work out.

Sarah Harris. The family had made the similarities between his ancestor and himself painfully clear to him as a child. He'd inherited her love of easy joking, her mannerisms, even some of her facial features. If it wasn't for his increased height and more powerful frame, and if she'd been about seventy years younger, they almost would have passed for twins.

She'd had a hard life.

Born during the First World War, Sarah had lost her father before she could crawl. She was an only child and developed the closed off toughness that such a position tended to breed. Her mother died sometime in the thirties and left her alone in the world of the Great Depression.

The details of the next decade were unclear, although Xander did know that she met someone during the Second World War—someone who'd left her shortly before her only son, Jack, was born. She'd married a friend later who'd raised Jack as his own son. But by the '60s, he was dead as well.

Sarah had held dozens of jobs in her life. Everything from a telephone operator to an Army Nurse to a high school teacher, Sarah had never been able to find a job that interested her enough to make a career out of. The only thing she'd ever really cared about, as far as Xander knew, was her son.

She'd contracted the cancer a decade ago as the product of a lifetime of smoking. A rough cough occasionally wracked her frail body as the life slowly drained away. Sarah knew she was dead; she had felt almost instinctively years before that the day her life ended was not far off.

Xander studied his dying grandmother sadly, wondering at the reason why two people like them, although so similar in temperament and appearance, had never been close. They'd never really talked about anything of importance or anything that mattered. They'd never even spent that much time together—an odd relationship for an only grandchild and his grandparent.

Xander held his sleeping ancestor's hand for a moment, then moved in to kiss her forehead. "Goodbye, Grandma."

It was three days after the funeral, and the phone was ringing. It was times like this Willow really wished her house-mate wasn't didn't practice carpentry—in his external workshop full of sawdust and power tools, Xander couldn't ever hear (or get to) the phone. It made her feel like his personal secretary... which, despite herself, was not an entirely bad feeling, if only as a fantasy to be occasionally played out in her mind.

Fantasy and disgruntled feelings aside, Willow lifted the phone to her ear. "Hold on, I'll get him." She muted the mobile instrument with a palm and moved out through the back doors of their house and into their spacious backyard..

Much like her own happy place in the basement, the simple, elegant barn at the rear of the yard served as an anchor for Xander's mind. The transfiguration of wood into beautiful pieces of furniture wasn't even challenging for her friend; he did it to think. In his workshop, Xander was the master of his fate. Willow knew that he needed that sometimes.

Although extremely promising to his mentor, the famed archeologist Dr. Gabriel Renneaux, Xander was still a junior member of the team. Before he'd unexpectedly announced the change of his major in their sophomore college year, Xander had been more or less stumbling along in search of a passion. In the obscure volumes and mysterious pyramids of Central America, he'd found that passion.

Xander was not book smart in any sense of the phrase. His lack of discipline, combined with a sometimes extreme case of boredom had nearly crippled his high school career. The young man had turned himself around in college, picking his goal and sticking to it with all the tenacity of a pit bull. Before college, Willow couldn't remember her friend ever willingly reading, let alone studying, when there hadn't been some reward in it for him. On the UC Sunnydale campus, he'd nearly worked and studied himself into an early grave.

Xander had forced the details of every linguistic pattern and codex into his long term memory over a period of time he collectively referred to as "hell." In the end, though, it had been more than worth the tremendous effort: Renneaux had hand-picked the young man to be the heir-apparent to his legacy.

Willow didn't know much about Renneaux except that the old man had earned her friend's unquestioned loyalty and respect. And with Xander, when a person made it that far they might as well have been family. It was Renneaux's rough, European-accented voice on the line, and Renneaux's call she now took to Xander.

Willow knocked on the door. Xander had constructed the little building as well as it's considerable furnishings inside, and Willow had to admit (as she did so often) that it was well done. Always smelling like sawdust and heartwood, the workshop was a too bit earthy for her to ever feel truly comfortable inside. For Xander, though, it was heaven.

The door swung open. "Hey, Willow." He'd been quiet since his grandmother died, quiet and secluded. It was natural, Willow knew, to grieve for the loss and miss his grandmother, however distant they'd been. Xander had thrown himself into his carpentry, utilizing the work as a method for putting his grief off to one side. It wasn't dealing with the problem, but as far as Xander was concerned it was the next best thing. He took the phone, gestured for the redhead to come inside.

Willow heard Xander exchange pleasantries with his mentor, but really wasn't that interested. More than likely the doctor had run into a snag in the excavation and needed Xander to solve some ancient puzzle. That was his specialty, why he was so highly valued on the digs. Xander had the type of mind that, while not overly analytical, was grounded enough in the physical world as to work out even the most complex problems—given time.

He was also good at finding things. Wether that was luck or an offshoot of his other skill, nobody really knew—Xander included. He didn't really know _why_ the science of dead cultures intrigued him the way it did. All he knew was that it awoke a sense of mystery in him and s longing to solve that mystery. And that he happened to be very good at it.

He was really quite good at a lot of things, Willow thought. Be it carpentry, cooking, digging up ancient ruins or making her feel like the luckiest girl on Earth (even if this last one hadn't been exercised as often as she'd like), Xander could do it all with the ease of a jack-of-all-trades.

"Thanks Doctor. Two days? Thanks. I'll see you in Mexico." Xander pushed the end button and looked at Willow. "Looks like the vacation's cut short, Wills. Gabriel's run into a snag. A really, really big one." Xander rubbed his forehead. "And he's absolutely convinced that I can work it out."

"That's probably because you can." Willow rubbed his shoulder. "You're really good at that sort of thing. Remember how you disarmed that trap two summers ago—"

The loud hum of a truck at the front of the house startled the two and they walked out in perfect synchronization. "Who's that?"

Willow shrugged. "I didn't do anything. Did you order something naughty?" She raised her voice at the end of the sentence, accentuating the faux-shocked face she currently wore.

"Yes Wills. Something dirty and not for human eyes. I'm bad. To the bone." Xander rolled his eyes. "So, the answer you're looking for is a no."

"Too bad." They decided to walk around the house rather than through. Xander was covered in sawdust and sweat, Willow noticed. Not a bad combination...

A man in the brown shirt/shorts uniform of a UPS employee stood at the front door. Coming up from behind him, Xander spoke first. "Can we help you?"

The man coughed. "Package for Dr. A. Harris?"

"That's me."

"Sign here." The man shoved a package and clipboard into Xander's surprised arms.

"Maybe I did order something," he quipped.

The delivery man rolled his eyes. "Maybe, sir. I gotta run, so if you could just John Hancock..." The clipboard was suddenly back in his hands with a ten-dollar bill attached.

"My hands are quicker than your eyes, my man. And if it helps, I did that once, too." Xander smiled. The man grunted some assent and moved speedily to his truck as the others headed back to Xander's shed.

"Who's it from?" Willow peeked over her friends shoulder, trying to make out the letters on the brown package.

"A law firm. But not Dewy, Cheatem and Howe, I see."

"Such a fine legal practice ruined by incompetence."

"It's a shame," agreed Xander. "God bless all Stooges, in whatever states of employment they may be."

"So open it."

"I was gonna wait till we got back to the..." Willow grabbed the package and was pulling off the outer layer of coarse paper. "It's only a file," she pouted.

"Have you always opened my mail before me?" Xander asked.

"No, but this is the first time it's been interesting."

"Again, Wills, you give so much comfort." He reached inside. "There's some pieces of paper and a circular object. Feels like glass. Some bumps too."

"Why not just look at it?"

"Dramatic build-up?"

Willow held out her palm expectantly. Xander slapped it with his own, then pulled out the object from inside the folder. "Good call, Xander."

It was beautiful in a sinister sort of way. A black glass disc, just as Xander had said, lay in the palm of his hand. A series of 13 jewels formed a perimeter about halfway to the center, and in the middle was a kind of one-sided hole. A single, sharp point stuck out from the top of the item... but it was the mournful-looking skull on the reverse face that gave Willow chills.

"Obsidian," Xander was muttering. "Toltec from the skull. Jewels include emerald, diamond and lapiz-lazuli. Interesting." Xander ran his hand over the pictographs around the skull. "'I open what should stay closed.' Roughly," he added ashamedly. "It's more like a 'Beware of freaky supernatural death.' Good advice to the Indiana Jones wannabe." Xander had seen this piece before, he felt certain of it. Even as he held it in his own hand, passing it to Willow, a powerful sense of deja vu hit him.

"Read the letter."

There were two, actually. Xander pulled first the one with the official letterhead of a law firm on top.

To Dr. Alexander Harris,

We at Wolfram and Hart would like to convey out sympathies with along with the contents of this package. In accordance with your grandmother's will, of which we are the executors, you now own this artifact as well as the chest it opens. The contents of said chest are yours as well.

Know that under the IRS regulation...

Xander stopped reading. Angel had experienced... difficulties with this law firm a few years before. Still, his grandmother had chosen them as her benefactors, and he had to trust that this wasn't some unusual trick from what Angel had called the Senior Partners. He handed the letter to Willow and pulled the other piece of paper from the manilla folder.

To my grandson Alexander Harris,

When you read this I'll be dead. No one lives forever, you know, despite our best efforts. So I've taken the precaution, knowing my condition ahead of time and still being of sound mind and body, to bequeath you a few important items concerning your lineage.

It startled me when I first heard of you taking up archeology a few years ago. The reason is not that I thought you incapable or stupid (I happen to have faith that whatever you want is easily in your reach, grandson), but that your grandfather, too, belonged to that vocation.

Neither you nor your father ever knew him. That's truly a shame. Your adopted grandfather John (although you never met him, either) was a good man, but it's not him your abilities come from. It's not me either, for that matter, although we do look and act extraordinarily similar. You inherited your skills, your brain, and your hunger for the unknown from your real grandfather... Dr. Alexander Black.

You've probably never heard of Toltec Black, and probably never will unless you meet some apprentice of his. I'm not going to lie, grandson. Alex was a failure in every sense of the word. Hell, he probably invented new meanings for the word. But he was a good man.

The rest of the family, although they don't number many, all seem to agree on this point: you and I are alike. Actually, it would be me who disagrees most with that statement. It surprised me that your parents decided to give you his name, seeing as how they never even knew his name. And it surprised me even more that you chose to follow after him.

I believe in coincidences, grandson. But I have never trusted them. And the ways you seem to think and act so alike make me distrust the parallels between you even more.

I also don't mean to frighten you (although from the rumors I've heard, that's not an easy thing to do), merely to draw to your attention this simple set of observations I have. There are many things Alex left unfinished when he (unexpectedly) died. There are many similarities between Alex and you. You are the heir to his unfinished legacy.

Make him proud, grandson. Make us both proud.

I've never opened the chest he left behind, but I'm sure you'll know how. And if you don't at first, I believe that you will figure out how.

One last thing, as I'm sure you've tired of reading the ramblings of a dead woman. I've never spent much time considering death or what happens next, if anything. There are things I've witnessed in my life to make me believe that I will be in a position to watch over you, as I'm sure your grandfather is already. We won't be able to physically wish you our love or support, grandson, but know that you have it, nonetheless. I love you, although I hardly know you.

Be safe, my grandson.

Loving you from Beyond,

Sarah Harris

Xander unconsciously exhaled a large breath. His grandmother had always carried the conventional wisdom he prided himself on, but her letter had opened new questions inside him. What had she meant by "unfinished business?" What "things" had she seen in her life? Why had his grandfather died unexpectedly?

And, most nagging at him of all... why did the obsidian disc in his closest friend's hand look so familiar to him?

"So... how do we open it?"

They were standing over the large sea-chest bearing the letters "A. Black" on the lid that now sitting in the kitchen of their house. The hardwood smelled healthy, even now after collecting dust for over half a century. Xander studied the locking mechanism on the chest's seam.

"Well we could just chop it open, Wills. But that doesn't really feel right." He kneeled down to examine the device more closely. A slit in the gold plating of the lock could be the trigger, thought Xander, although the thin hole was too tall for any key Xander had ever seen. Except...

"Willow, where's the glass piece?" The redhead pulled the artifact from her purse, handed it over.

"Why?"

"Because this lock looks about as tall as it was. There," Xander held the disc up to the side for comparison. "It must go in." Xander carefully slid the ornate piece inside, stopping when he felt the resistance of the metal. The lock clicked. "Bingo."

He pulled the disc from inside and lifted the chest's lid. Both peered curiously inside, examining the contents. The chest hadn't felt heavy as they carried it (by way of Giles' truck) to their own home, and Xander had suspected that it might just be empty. Seeing the full contents, though, confused him even more.

The chest was nearly full of various odds and ends, some junk and some possibly quite invaluable. That was always the way it went with archeology. Trash from millennia ago could provide the most important clues about it's owners, and it was impossible to guess at something's value from a simple glance.

The contents of the chest painted an interesting portrait of the man's life. This was the part Xander excelled at. The creativity needed to formulate multiple guesses at an item's use—and, often, the reasons for its disuse—was a rare gift among the analytical minds of his colleagues. He treated his grandfather's trinkets, therefore, no differently from his handling of the excavation of a Royal Burial Chamber.

There were quite a few items inside: books, journals, folders with maps and notes scribbled in an illegible handwriting similar to his own, very-old looking artifacts and, to Xander's immediate interest, a black fedora bearing an eagle's feather in the brim. On impulse Xander put the thing to his head. Not a bad fit, really, if just a little big. He set it aside gently and continued his cursory glance through the possessions.

Besides the other items and the fedora, it seemed that Xander's grandfather had taken great care of his tools, most of which Xander found in an old-fashioned leather satchel. Brushes, chisels, a hammer, sextant, even what looked like a lock-picking device. Xander reached further inside the bag and pulled out... weapons. A combat knife and pistol, specifically. Was his grandfather a scientist or a simple highway robber?

His eyes drifted back to the hat beside him What manner of man had worn that hat? Xander hoped the diaries could shed some light on the character of his ancestor.

A piece of paper stuck out from the pages of one weather-beaten journal. Xander opened the book and pulled it out. It was a black-and-white photograph featuring a tall man who looked strikingly like his own father, Jack. The resemblance to his son was uncanny, although his smile seemed to be stolen from his only grandson. And although the picture was limited to the technology of it's time, Xander felt relatively certain that they had the same eyes.

Willow looked over his shoulder at the picture. "He's kinda hot."

Xander raised an amused eyebrow. "He's my grandfather. Was there really any doubt?"

Willow giggled. "Well, no," she said coyly "but proof is always nice. You have the same smile."

"Yeah, but he looks kinda angry in this picture. Is that really a good thing?"

"Who are they?" Willow indicated the half-a-dozen or so younger people around him. "Friends?"

"Grandma's letter mentioned 'apprentices,'" Xander thought out loud. "They must be them."

Willow's eyes widened. "Hey, Xander, is that..."

Xander followed her gaze. "Renneaux! What the hell is he doing..."

"Creepy coincidence."

Xander thought back to the letter. "I believe in coincidences," it had said. "But I have never trusted them." Renneaux was a good man, of that Xander was 99 certain. But it was odd that he would have worked with two generations of men from the same family—all the while not knowing that they _were_ family.

Xander shrugged. "Nah. He was probably taught in Sunnydale... why else would he live here?"

Willow shook her head. "That's very, very strange Xander."

"Maybe I should casually ask him about Black."

"Maybe you should. Casually," she added thoughtfully. "When's our flight?"

"It's a good one. 12:00."

"Is that noon or..."

"No, it's midnight. Almost has to be, living in a town where going out after dark is suicidal." He shook his head. "Renneaux, you are a cheap bastard."

"Maybe you can be on time for once?" Willow smiled sarcastically and awaited her friend's indignant response.

"Me? Oh, no Willow. You're the one who set the clock an hour late."

"How did you know..."

Xander leaned in close to the redhead's surprised face. "My flight wasn't late the last time," he whispered quietly as his friend's face turned a shade matching her hair.

Just don't look out the window, and you'll be fine, she was telling herself, silently, over and over again. It wasn't helping her acrophobia at all.

"Willow?"

The sound of her friend's reassuring voice jolted her from her inner pleading. That was typical of Xander—able to remove her out of her own problems with just a concerned sound. She turned to face him, trying with all her might to look brave.

"Yes, Xander?" Her voice was clipped and not slightly cold. That was a habit she'd been trying to break for years, but for some reason mortal terror seemed to give her more control over the grammar facilities of her mind.

"You're shivering." Between the expression in his eyes, the sound of his voice and the way she intimately understood him, Willow knew that he was sincere. The light in his dark eyes gave away nearly every emotion he ever needed to express—a major weakness she had, on more than one occasion, chosen to exploit.

"You noticed." His genuine concern still wasn't enough to jolt her from the frigid mental shield she'd erected in a mostly successful attempt to keep her from screaming. Xander laughed.

"Believe me, I wouldn't have except that... well, your coffee's all over my forearm." Xander held out the injured arm woefully.

Concern immediately broke through her facade. "Oh, God... Xander, I am so, soo... and it's really hot, I think I just seared your arm... you'll be a... a... a cripple for life now!" Her voice had reached a pitch that forced the few other passengers on board to look her way in amused interest.

A thought occurred to her. "Xander?"

He was wiping the liquid from his arm. "Yes, Wills?"

Her face contorted into a thoughtful scowl. "I'm not drinking coffee."

"You're not drinking coffee," he agreed.

"So why is your coffee on your arm?"

"My coffee's on my arm?" He widened his eyes in shock. "I never even suspected... my coffee must not like me!" He shook his finger at the offensive Styrofoam container. "Bad coffee... if there wasn't a lady present I'd... I'd...well, I'd probably drink you anyway" he shrugged. "Oh, I can't stay mad at you. Come here." Xander lifted the cup to his mouth and sipped the steaming beverage. "You know, Willow, it's true. Making up's the best part."

Throughout his performance the redhead had been suppressing giggles behind a hastily-erected "resolve face" of angry eyes and a very stiff upper lip. As he hugged the container lovingly, though, Willow couldn't help but let loose a burst of almost maniacal laughter at his antics. She quickly covered it up with the previous expression and scowled at her dark-haired friend.

"That wasn't nice."

"Yeah, I know. But it still worked."

"Yes. It did," Willow lovingly leaned her head against his shoulder, allowing a contented expression to rest on her face. "You smell like coffee."

"I've been maimed, Willow. It's not something you just get over." He caressed her hair fondly. "Now go to sleep."

"Mmm... as you wish," the redhead muttered sleepily. Xander sighed regretfully as she finally dozed off against his arm.

"Great. Now I've got a Willow on my arm and I can't move." He looked down at her longingly. "Things could definitely be worse."

"Xander?" He barely heard her yell over the whirring of the helicopter's blades.

"Yeah, Wills?" It was amazing how he managed to convey concern even while screaming.

"I don't like helicopters all that much."

He smiled and led her away from the landing pad. "Between you and me," he said evenly "I don't either." Xander wrapped an arm around her quivering shoulders, gave her a squeeze. She looked so pale, he thought, so afraid. Field work wasn't Willow's thing. It never had been.

Shouldn't have brought her here, he chided himself. If only he could comfort her in his own special way... but no, Xander thought. The time had come for work, not hypothetical romances.

"Thanks," she said gratefully. Even though Xander wasn't afraid of helicopters (or much else, she thought, for that matter), hearing the words lent her a reassurance that maybe, just maybe, there was someone out there who understood her.

At least you didn't throw up, she congratulated herself. That's a first in Willow flying. Once on solid ground again, standing beside her best friend, Willow felt alright. Which was also a first in her flying history—in the past, Willow had always passed out before or shortly after landing.

"This way, doctor." A younger Caucasian male, probably nearing the end of grad school, Willow thought, ushered them to a waiting jeep. "It's all ready for you, sir."

"Thanks, Ben," Xander nodded to his friend. Benjamin Gladstone was one of Renneaux's more promising finds in recent years. The kid showed promise, thought Xander, or at least more than he had at that age. The difference between them was that Ben was a natural subordinate—a born lackey—while Xander tended to take charge of a situation and produce results.

Ben anxiously stepped away from the jeep as Xander loaded their bags into the back. "Nice hat, sir," he said.

Xander rolled his eyes upwards to his grandfather's fedora and grinned. "A little more Harrison Ford than I'd like, but hey. A relic's a relic." He finished loading the bags and opened the door for Willow. "Wanna come, Ben? We're just going to Renneaux's tent."

The younger man's eyes bulged out slightly at the offer, although whether it was due to his intense respect for Renneaux or his even more intense dread of riding with his friend, Xander wasn't sure. Over the course of his work with Renneaux, Xander had acquired the unfortunate (if very accurate) reputation of being a crazy driver. "Lady aboard, Ben. I've gotta play nice."

The other looked slightly relieved but shook his head. "We're trying to translate the pictographs in A-41. Tell the Professor" Xander noted the reverent tone in his voice "that I said hello."

"Later, Ben." Xander smiled and climbed in the other side. "What?"

He'd felt Willow's raised eyebrow fall upon him without looking at her. "You never have to play nice when I'm around, Alexander Harris. I've driven with you, and it doesn't scare me."

Xander chuckled in amusement. "Really? Cause _I've _driven with me too. It's a terrifying thing. Maybe you can see the show sometime." He winked roguishly at the incensed redhead.

"Hey, I'm ready for the shooooww, slow down!" Her eyes had bugged out in a mix of terror and awe as Xander gracelessly pulled away from the helicopter pad. "You'll wreck something!"

"No I won't. I'm good at this. Watch." He slammed on the breaks, twisting the wheel and moving the shifter to avoid tipping. The jeep turned a full 360 in the ancient dust before Xander smoothly engaged the clutch. "See?"

Willow had covered her eyes.

As the jeep slid up to the large tent occupied by the expedition's head, Willow slowly removed her hands from her eyes, blinked at the harsh daylight, and looked at Xander.

"I surrender." The point had gone to him; Willow was woman enough to admit that. Still, she couldn't let it go to his head. "You'll get yours, Xander. Soon."

The triumphant grin slipped off his face. "If you're angry at me for that, I already have."

Willow blinked at the hurt expression spread across his features. "I'm not. You know I've gotta find some way to check your ego." A mischievous glint came into her eyes. "Maybe some type of public nudity would be..."

"And we're off the forgiveness track." Xander had quickly—almost _too_ quickly, thought Willow—jumped from the vehicle to the ground, and was circling around to her side. "How about I open your door."

"You may not be a good driver or humble," Willow commented thoughtfully as he helped her down. "But at least you're a gentleman."

He bowed low, offering an arm to the delighted redhead. "Come, milady. The king want's a word with your not so humble escort."

"I want these chambers photographed. Yes, yes, I said photographed. No! Doctor, we must have these pictures. The success of this expedition depends on them, in short," he breathed "without proof of the sophistication, no one will believe that they're still un-tampered with."

He waited patiently. "Yes... yes. Thank you, doctor." He hung up. "Some people. Alexander," he breathed again. "Thank the gods you've returned, my expedition is saved and I cannot tell you just how important you are... my, who is this?"

Willow studied the short, balding scientist keenly, taking in his unnatural thinness as well as the deep green tint of his eyes. Renneaux was a funny man in many ways. Originally from some region of Europe (his accent could have been English, French or Germanic, or all of the above), the short, nearly-bald man had immigrated to the New World sometime near the beginning of the second World-War. Vichy, he'd explained, had been rather hostile to any Jewish sympathizers. As his wife was Jewish, Renneaux had gotten the hint that they'd better get out of Dodge.

After abandoning his Old World dreams (he, like Giles, had been deeply interested in the profession of grocery), Renneaux had employed his considerable mental assets towards what had merely been a hobby—archeology. Unlike Xander, the short European had exhibited a tremendous savvy for book learning. He truly was a prodigy when it came to committing important facts (or, for that matter, entire textbooks) to memory.

Renneaux's biggest and possibly only fault was his terrible luck—luck he half-jokingly attributed to a Gypsy curse placed upon his family line. Wherever opportunity lurked, Renneaux was nowhere to be found. His various houses had burned to the ground no less than seven times across the country. His cars, even to the present day, had shown tremendous capacity for malfunction. His family had gradually been stricken, one by one, until only the eccentric scientist remained.

If not for the work, Xander was certain his friend would have hung himself years ago. He interrupted Renneaux in mid compliment.

Xander looked at the redhead as if thinking. "The best person I know."

Renneaux smiled warmly and extended a rough hand. "You seem to know many people, Alexander. And many of them seem to be beautiful women. But I do not believe I have ever heard that particular description" he sucked in a quick breath "before. A pleasure Ms...?"

"Rosenburg. Willow Rosenburg."

Renneaux blinked sharply as if attempting remove tears that did not exist yet. "A pleasure."

"We've talked on the phone before."

"Ah yes. Alexander's house mate." He leaned close to Xander conspiratorially. "You're a lucky man, my friend."

"What problem do you need me to solve?"

"Ah, yes, straight to the point, that is so like you. Well, my spiritual son, there is this cave..."

Willow smiled at the interaction between the two. Renneaux had made Xander, had recognized something akin to himself in the very, very different person of her friend. Maybe he'd witnessed the nearly workaholic tendencies her friend had shown in college; maybe he saw the same love of the very remote past he himself harbored; or, most likely, he'd just seen another good man down on his luck and had stepped in where Fate hadn't.

Not that he'd given Xander an easy ride; that wasn't Renneaux's style at all. Quite the contrary, he'd pushed the aspiring scholar harder than any other student, had (academically) beaten the sometimes uninspired learner into a thing of beauty. Xander had responded just as Renneaux knew he would: in defiance of what he perceived to be an unfair teacher, Xander had bitten back with all the determination of a... well, a very determined person.

More than anything else, Renneaux was proud of his protege. Xander, more than any discovery, expedition, or teaching career, was Renneaux's greatest accomplishment. Renneaux believed in the younger man when no one else (himself included) had. When the old man did pass away, he felt extremely confident that the gifted young archeologist would be seen as his masterpiece—more than that, as a kind of adopted son.

"I'll figure it out."

"Of that, there was never any doubt. I must file a report to my benefactors but if you need me," he inhaled loudly "I will be here. Good luck, although you will not need it."

Xander smiled and shook his hand. Willow did the same

"It was great to finally meet you, Doctor."

"And you, Miss Rosenburg." The same sad/wistful expression fell across his face. "Au revoir, for now."

The expression of sad longing plastered across Renneaux's face haunted Willow as she followed Xander to the jeep. She could only remember seeing that expression on the features of her now-deceased grandmother. What if...?

Willow shook off the questions as Xander gripped the wheel. "No, no no," she clucked. "I drive."

Her friend considered it for a moment. "You don't know where you're going."

She pointed. "Big pyramid? Middle of the city? Pretty good idea."

Xander bowed graciously. "By all means..."

As they switched places, Willow wondered briefly at the interesting questions and coincidences surrounding Xander's mentor. Maybe she could answer them someday. "You didn't ask about Black."

"He wouldn't have answered it."

"Huh?"

Xander shook his head. "Renneaux is a genius, but he tends to think in a one-way pattern. Something as exciting as this cave..." he trailed off. "Willow, pull over."

The redhead obeyed. "What? What is it?"

Xander jumped from the idling jeeps side. "I remembered where I've seen the disc before."

Willow followed him across the broad path to a tiny pyramid. "What?"

"Look at this." Xander gestured to the stone steps below him. "It's the skull."

"The skull...?"

"The skull from the disc. I'm sure of it."

"You said it looked Toltec."

"Toltecs didn't build this city, Wills. Maybe their ancestors, but not them."

"Why?"

"Hadn't been born yet." He traced the circle around it. "These depressions look like the gems on the artifact. And the point," he pointed. "It's there too."

"So what does that mean?"

"At the very least? That my grandfather was here before. And that he took something he shouldn't have."

"Possession is 9/10s of the law, Xander."

"Hmmp," he snorted incredulously. "Right now, our team has the artifacts. They legally belong to the Mexican government. It is our duty to protect them until they can be housed somewhere else."

"Your grandfather wasn't a petty thief. Whatever he took..."

"And it looked like a lot of things."

"Must have been important. Especially since he built a lock around it."

"Hmm," he agreed, deep in thought.

"What?"

"The ancient Maya believed that in the existence of thirteen crystal skulls."

"I'd never heard that."

Xander looked at her in a very academic way. "It was the central piece of their apocalypse stories. Supposedly, when all 13 came together, the human race would gain immense knowledge and power..."

"Sounds good, for an apocalypse."

"...which, if we weren't ready for it, would destroy us all," he finished. "If Black thought this piece had something to do with them, he was probably right to take it."

"What are you thinking?"

"That maybe this little glass disc opens more than a sea-chest."

"Well, duh!" The redhead laughed musically. "I seems to have 'key' written all over it."

"Always puttin' down the Xand-man. As if he can't go any lower." Xander wiped an imaginary tear from his cheek. "I'll just be in the jeep," he finished hoarsely.

Willow rolled her eyes at his antics, trying with an unnatural concentration not to laugh. When Xander began crawling along in the dust to the pickup, Willow lost it.

"Okay, okay. So you knew that. Jeez, be a little more sensitive, will ya?"

He was on his feet by the end of the sentence. "Say no more, I shall endeavor to become more sensitive. Maybe I should remake your office in some nice pastels..."

"Xander!"

"Sorry. Getting in." Again taking shotgun, Xander studied the stone step from the jeep. "We need that piece."

"Well maybe you should have brought it."

"Oh, not me."

"You're gonna send for it?"

"The best way I know how."

They looked each other in the eyes. "Dawn," finished Xander as Willow guessed "Me."

"So much for great minds thinking alike, Wills. No, Dawn's been bugging me to come out here for awhile."

"But school..."

"Ends in two days. We can wait that long. It'll give me time to get the scoop on Black."

"Where to now?"

"The Pyramid of the Sun. Go The Way of The Gods."

"Is that a religion?" she asked curiously.

"No, it's the street that ends at the Pyramid. Aztecs believed their gods were buried beneath, so..."

"Alright, alright," Willow grumbled. "Just be mister Hi-I-know-more-about-ancient-Mesoamerican-civilizations-than-you-do-Willow."

"Too long a name."

"Xander!"

"Clear away that rubble. Joe, sift it for artifact-related debris. Henry, bring the water truck over here... Jack.."

"That'll be Derek," Xander whispered quietly to the redhead. "Watch out for him... he's not that talented and wants to be the boss."

"But Renneaux's the boss."

"No one told Derek that. He's been living in the Professor's shadow for almost half a century. And he doesn't like me."

Willow appraised the tall, shaven-headed man curiously. The bulging muscles gave him the appearance of a strong and young man, although Willow noticed the definite wrinkles around his forehead, cheeks and jaw line. He reminded her of someone, now who was it?

"He looks like Jesse Ventura," Xander said slowly. "Although he's about half as bright. He _really_ likes giving orders, Willow."

"I'll be careful," the petite redhead promised.

"Dr. Perry! Good to see you."

The tall man turned a scornful eye on Xander. "Harris," he said contemptuously. "I thought you were gone."

"Well, I'm back. And I even brought a friend. Willow Rosenburg... Derek Perry."

She extended a tiny hand, a hand easily engulfed in his massive paw. He squeezed hard and Willow tried not to wince. "A pleasure," he rumbled.

She nodded politely, making a note to avoid shaking his hand in the future. He didn't extend a hand to Xander, his colleague, who didn't seem to care. "Renneaux says there's a puzzle in the cave."

Perry grunted an affirmative. "But we can handle it Harris. Wouldn't want to get your pretty clothes dusty, no would ya?" He eyed the fedora. "Nice hat."

"Thanks. I'll take a look anyway."

Xander ducked inside the shallow, well lit opening. Gladstone, the man from their arrival, was inside with two others. "Alright, lads, pull."

Xander quickly added up the situation. "Don't."

Gladstone turned around. "Dr. Harris! Thank the gods! This little bugger," he indicated a recently exposed doorway "is giving us a bit of trouble."

The younger man stepped away enthusiastically as Xander examined the door. It could have been obsidian, Willow thought, except that it looked much more metallic than the volcanic glass ever could. Some weird black metal. "Wonder what's inside?"

"Something of importance." He gestured the redhead closer. "Look at this."

Her green eyes widened in surprise. "It's..."

"The same skull. This looks like a lock." Xander indicated a circular indentation in the metal, carved with the notch in the top and a rod sticking out. "Round peg," he said, thinking back to the shallow indentation on the disc "round hole."

Xander stood up. "I know how to open it. But I'll need the key."

"Key? What key?"Gladstone was confused.

"A key I have. It'll open this right up."

"But... but... how?" Gladstone's awe of the dark-haired man went up another few notches.

"I need to get it, though. It's back home."

"In... in Sunnydale, yes?" Gladstone pulled the town name from a card-game memory.

"Yes. I'll send for it, Ben. No worries." Xander patted the younger man on the back as he walked from the cave.

"No," murmured Gladstone reverently. "None at all."

"Seriously?" The younger woman's squeal across the line briefly contorted Xander's face in a pained wince. He couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm, though, and laughed happily into the cell phone's receiver.

"Semester ends, you come visit. That's the offer."

Dawn snapped the offer up. "I'd be crazy to say no! I just need to..."

"I had Willow book you a ticket." He shook his head. "I don't know why she can't ever get _us_ good flight times, but yours is alright."

"Xander you have noooo idea how much I... wait." She sounded suspicious. "What's the catch?"

Xander adopted a hurt voice. "Dawnie! I'm shocked, shocked to find you such a cynic. Can't a loving older-brother figure dote on his younger-sister figure?"

"No. What's the catch?"

"There's a key we need," he sighed. She was perceptive if nothing else (and she was many other things). "Black glass disc, skull on the back. Its in my desk's top drawer—below the junk."

"It sounds like junk to me." She sounded amused. It's not like she'll say no, mused Xander. She's been wanting to come on another dig since she became a teenager. 

Xander smiled at the memory of the then-15year old wearing an oversized pith helmet and trying mightily not to scream at the sheer amount of insects around her. They'd been working in Belize on another Renneaux dig, this time searching the old Mayan ruins. It had been his maiden voyage as well—the first _real_ expedition the sophomore had been on.

Due to an allergic reaction to certain types of wildlife, Joyce had forbidden her daughter from accompanying Xander on any more digs. Still, Dawn had never relinquished the hope that she might enjoy another journey someday—as long as she didn't die from the bug bites.

"It's not, Dawnie. I actually think it's sort of important." Xander laughed lightly. "It's not like I'd risk the Fury of Your Mother for something trivial."

"Ya know, I could almost hear the capital letters there," the college girl giggled. "Count me in."

A sudden thought occurred to her. "Damn you, Xander."

Although she couldn't see the puzzlement in his eyes, it was all too evident in his voice. "Huh?"

"Now I'm too excited to study for finals!"

He smiled. "Ah, the age old excuse: 'Mom,'" he adopted a higher caricature of her voice "'I was invited to an archeology dig and I sorta failed all my finals. Gotta run, love ya!'"

She laughed across the line. "In my day, Dawnie, a normal excuse ran along the lines of 'Mom, I tapped the keg. Then I failed my finals.'"

"'In my day?' You're not old enough to use that expression yet. You're not even old."

"Nor do I ever plan to be. Your plane leaves Sunday afternoon at 3:30. Wills and I'll meet you at the airport. Then you can fly in my chopper."

"They gave you a helicopter?" She sounded impressed.

"No... but it sounds better when I say it's mine." She giggled again.

"I'll bring your stupid disc," she sighed in a long-suffering tone.

"I'd bring a change of clothes as well. Two weeks in any one outfit and the EPA will quarantine you."

"Very funny."

"I was serious."

"You're never serious."

"Yes I am."

"No, you're not."

"Xander, get off the phone!"

"Okay, Wills!" He smiled. "Sorry, Dawnie, but the Wrath of Willow is fierce. See you in a few days."

"Thanks Xander... bye."

An eyebrow raised subconsciously as he pressed the end button. Unless he missed his guess (and he rarely did when it came to these things), that last "bye" had been pronounced in a flirting tone.

Shudder. 

The excited redhead beside him demanded more attention. "Hey, Xander!"

He turned to face a literally bouncing Willow, smiling. "What's got you so happy?"

She smiled. "This place is sooo incredible."

"Say it." His grin was broad and self-satisfied now.

"Say what?" she asked innocently?

"Say I was right."

Her face fell. "I knew that was coming." She sighed, gestured that he move his head closer and winked. Xander obeyed, moving his ear inches away from her lips.

"Xander," the redhead said sotto voce "you were right."

He jumped backwards, clutching a hand over his heart. "What? I was?"

She couldn't help but smile. "For once."

"Wow. Stop the presses, this girl's got a story!" He smiled. "Specifically, what brought you hopping in here?"

"Since when does a guy ask questions when a hot girl bounds into his tent?"

Xander waited for the blush. It never came. "Alright, moving on," he added nonchalantly. "Thinking is always nice... especially when speaking."

"What... did I..." He nodded. "Damn."

"So many innuendos, so little time. Maybe you could answer the question?"

She was blushing in earnest now. "Uh... yeah... well... uh... ahem..."

"Were you planning on using words at some point?"

Her eyes narrowed slightly as she fought to reclaim her thoughts. "Err... oh. Renneaux wanted to see you."

His face remained passive. "That's it? That's the catalyst?"

She shrugged helplessly. "It's just... with all the mysteries and secrets and hidden treasue... I just feel like some sort of detective. And my instinct is screaming 'major clue.'"

"You think... what's a mystery?"

"Duh! The whole thing!"

"No it's not."

"Yes, it totally is."

"Look, keys, although rare, have been found here before. Nothing so elaborate, but still..."

"Miccaotli."

"What?"

"Miccaotli," she repeated. "Street of the Dead."

"The Way of the Gods," he answered, still not comprehending. "What are you getting at?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. But it still sounds like a mystery."

"Dead."

"Huh?" Her features contorted in puzzlement

"The Street of the Dead " he mused. "Aztecs thought it was gods buried beneath... but what if it wasn't?"

"You lost me, Xander. What do you mean?"

He looked her in the eye. "The cave/shrine where we found the door extends several meters directly beneath the Sun Pyramid. A place where sacrifices... and burials would have taken place."

She got it. "You think they buried a king below Miccaotli."

"Not just kings... dynasties of kings. A king was a god to these people... but _kings_ plural would have formed a pantheon of invincible deities."

"And what's better than having a god or two backing you up?"

He nodded, frowning. "What?" she asked.

"If the key opens it—and it will—and Black hid the key..." he scratched his stubble-covered chin. "Maybe he didn't want to open that door."

"Why?"

Xander shrugged. "If he was here in the 40's, Black probably didn't want to risk the treasures being destroyed. Or stolen," he sighed. "It happens."

"But if he thought whatever was behind the door was dangerous," Willow cautiously added.

"He'd have destroyed the key outright."

"But we can't get in until Dawn arrives."

"In that case," he ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair. "I believe I have an appointment with Renneaux." He winked. "You're welcome to come..."

"No, I'm not. He wanted alone time with the apprentice."

"Just my luck. Probably wants to pick my brain about some obscure French metaphysicist."

"In that case, maybe you can pick his about some obscure American archeologist."

"So you can open it." It wasn't a question, merely a statement of the elderly man's faith in Xander.

"I believe so. There is... an artifact in my possession."

Renneaux's eyes narrowed. "Did you steal it?"

"Not directly, no. Inherited it."

"What is 'it?'"

"A black glass disc."

Xander studied his mentor carefully. It was difficult to gauge the Renneaux's reaction to _anything_, due mostly to the older man's short attention span and violent mood swings. This time, though, it wasn't hard to recognize the symptoms of shock in the person of Dr. Gabriel Renneaux.

The diminutive scientist's eyebrows raised as his eyes widened. Renneaux sat down slowly atop his cot, steadying himself against the tent's main support. Wiping a sleeve across his forehead, Xander's mentor smiled apologetically. "Could you describe it?"

Xander's eyes narrowed slightly at Renneaux's obvious alarm, but he measured out a distance between two fingers for his teacher's benefit. "Uh... about this wide, black obsidian. Skull on the back."

Renneaux sighed in defeat, muttering a curse in his native tongue. "Thirteen jewels forming a concentric circle in the middle?"

"Yes. Recognize the description?" Renneaux laughed bitterly.

"I've held it in my hand. I suppose you received it along with that hat?" Xander nodded. "Damn that man's soul! He was supposed to destroy it!"

His apprentice frowned but kept silent. "How did you come by this... artifact?"

"Apparently, 'that man' was my grandfather." Another curse from Renneaux. "He left it, and a chest full of other things, with my grandmother. Who just died."

Renneaux chuckled. "Fate is a cruel bitch, Alexander, and please pardon my French. There's too much coincidence around this city to be anything else."

"You knew... him?"

Renneaux looked at him in surprise. "Toltec Black taught me everything. He helped me infinitely more than I've ever helped you. Were you aware of his existence?"

Xander shook his head. "My grandmother wrote me a letter saying he died unexpectedly..." Renneaux snorted "and that she'd never told my father about him."

"He expected his death, at least. He sentenced himself, actually, when he refused to hand over the disc." Renneaux shook his head. "Your grandmother must be Sarah Harris—that was Alex's girlfriend when he died, and you do look very similar—and he must've given the chest to her."

"Didn't I just say tha—"

"And," he continued unfazed "she probably told you he was worthless."

"She said he was a failure."

He snorted. "In the literal sense of the word, yes. But," he added, "in the other sense of the word—that is, Alexander, that he didn't have to be a failure—a wholehearted no. Dr. Black discovered more—and gave up more—than any other man I know."

"Huh? Request permission to be confused."

"Granted. The key you've so kindly summoned is the only device capable of unlocking the door. You know the one I mean, Alexander... the way to Miccaotli. Dr. Black used it over sixty years ago to open the Way of the Gods for the first time in millennia."

"So he opened it... and then closed it again." Xander cocked his head. "Why?"

Renneaux chuckled. "It was no supernatural curse or undead army that forced our decision. It was other humans.

"Beneath that road lies a set of tombs rivaling that of the Egyptian Valley of the Kings. Dozens of chambers, Xander—dozens and maybe more. Set in thirteen groups beneath the streets of Teotihuacan, the lords of the city date back much farther than the traditionally assumed founding date of the city—I mean, the first century C.E. Over 100 separate rulers are interred beneath the rock.

"Most of these kings appeared to be Native American Indians, people not so different from the Mayas today. But as the dynasties go back, back to what Black called Ruling Dynasty One, the characteristics of the possessions, artwork and even skeletons seemed to resemble the Egyptian Pharaohs."

"Thirteen Dynasties," echoed a dumbfounded Xander. "With over a hundred kings between them. Even if the average span of rule was just a decade that's still over a millennium."

Renneaux nodded, smiling. "The chamber appears to have been closed—closed but not pressurized, as in the Qin burial mound in China—sometime around the beginning of the second century C.E."

"When the major construction works were thought to have begun," interjected Xander as comprehension began to flood his mind.

"Yes. It would seem that the last foreign-blood king was overthrown and never interred. The tomb reserved for that unfortunate potentate was still empty when Black opened it."

"The amount of time would place the appearance of the foreigners at anywhere from eighth to the fourteenth centuries B.C.E. That's about the time of the Dark Ages, Doctor."

"Your grandfather said that to me as well—sixty years ago. He believed that a sect of Mediterranean nobility—probably Egyptian, based on the way the tombs were filled—had emigrated across the Atlantic in an effort to escape the enemy known as the Sea Peoples."

"Then perhaps the influx of pyramids across Meso-America isn't a coincidence," Xander thought out loud. "Why did Bla—my grandfather re-seal the tombs?"

"Dr. Black had the find of a century. More than that, the find of the millennium. He gave it up, just as I would ask you to, because he knew that too many of the artifacts inside would be stolen, or, worse yet, taken over by an unstable government and sold to treasure hunters around the world.

"Please, Alexander. Your grandfather was killed for his refusal to hand over the key. I would ask you not to make its existence known... I would ask you to make the ultimate sacrifice of a student of history. Do not allow the treasures of a thousand-plus years to become the playthings of the world's elite."

Xander nodded, feeling the lump rising in his throat. "My friend Willow and I were... theorizing about the possibility of dynastic burial. And about my grandfather not wanting to open it. But... who killed him?"

Renneaux bit down on his lip and grimaced. "We never knew who it was, exactly. The whole thing was a perfectly set up 'accident' back stateside. However, I believed that it was one of us, one of Black's students, who did him in."

"You have a guess."

"Yes. I believe that one of his... more ambitious students who ran him down. A Russian fellow I didn't really like all that much. Dr. Ivan Mihalsky."

"The name sounds familiar."

"He's a powerful man in the circles he runs. Actually, he's the man our benefactors are sending to appraise the dig... and tell us if we can continue."

"Definitely the man to hide my... ancestry from."

"And your inheritance," Renneaux nodded. "It pains me to ask that sacrifice of you, Alexander... but remember that I made it as well, once."

"So it's either protect the past and give up a prestigious future... or do the right thing and live in the shadows."

"I've lived in the shadow's for sixty years, Alexander. They get comfortable, after awhile."

"So?"

"So we were right."

"You mean, you were right."

"Well, yeah, but you helped me get there."

"So why so depressed?"

Xander's shoulders were slumped in an uncharacteristically sad manner. He shrugged, trying to form a smile. "Who's depressed?"

"You are. What's wrong?" She moved beside her friend, favoring him with the most concerned look she had.

Xander shook his head. "We can't open Miccaotli."

Her worried features instantly became indignant. "What! Why not?"

"Same reasons Black closed it again. Protection of the past from an unstable world."

"What gives Renneaux the gall to tell you that you can't... I'm so mad... I'll... I'll..."

Xander leaned heavily against the tent's main pole. "There's nothing we can do. Renneaux's right... and I can find my fame somewhere else."

"I can still be mad about it, right?" Resolve face, Willow. 

"By all means. God knows I am," sighed a dejected Alexander Harris.

"Hey, guys!" The perennially glowing young woman grasped her friends in a surprisingly powerful hug.

"How did finals go?"

She scowled at her friend. "Since when are you all business, Xander?"

"Since I didn't want to face your relatives if you failed on our account." The dark haired man smiled. "Did you like our chopper?"

"I thought you said it was _your_ chopper," Dawn observed accusingly.

"It is," defended Xander "in the sense that America is my country or California is my state."

Willow winked at Dawn and spoke. "So am I yours too?"

He smiled weakly at the redhead. "No, because slavery, although once popular among our Southern brethren, is still illegal." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Unless it's voluntary."

Dawn giggled. "Sick, Xander."

"Yeah... yeah sick," Willow agreed weakly.

"Can we get back to the question?"

"The chopper was fun, guys. A little loud, though."

"Aww," Xander regarded her sympathetically. "Did poor baby's ears hurt? Could poor baby not listen to ultra-bouncy pop music on the ultra-bouncy ride?"

The younger woman hit him playfully. "You're the one who steals my CDs and makes them his own!"

"Yes, and we must never speak of that outside this group," agreed a shamefaced Xander. "Now shall we discuss my music-piracy habits or would you prefer a tour?"

"Tour. Please."

"Then let us step into the Xander-mobi—"

Willow hand had darted into his pocket, coming out with Xander's set of keys. She winked. "Xander doesn't drive with any living person."

"Personal space violation, Wills."

"Oh, go pout about it," grinned Dawn. "Somehow I doubt it bothered you very much."

"So... we're not opening it?" Dawn's disappointment was clearly manifested across her youthful features. "That's stupid."

"That's life, Dawn." Xander shook his head. It had taken all his and Willow's power to keep the younger woman from cartwheeling across the stone road. "And I'm not happy either."

"Xander, this is your chance! More important, this is _my_ chance to tell my friends 'I know a celebrity!'"

"Great priorities," laughed Willow. Dawn glowered.

"You'd be more famous than anyone... if you didn't do everything you can to stay secluded."

She's not wrong, laughed Xander silently. Wills isn't much for fame. 

"I'm not much for fame, Dawnie. It's overrated."

Dawn waved a hand in frustration. "C'mon, Xander... can't we just open it for a peek?"

Her friend sighed, looking to Willow for support. The sun had almost disappeared beneath the Moon Pyramid to the west, its dying rays casting peculiar and ominous shadows throughout the encampment. A single beam of light fell upon Willow, illuminating her fiery hair in a way that, to Xander, could only be described as beautiful.

She looked sympathetically at her reluctantly-noble friend, laying a hand on his slumped shoulder.

"What do you love about the past, Dawn?" Xander's question was unusually sad, defeated almost.

The beautiful woman shrugged. "It's mystery."

"Is that why you chose this field above, say, modeling?"

"Wait... you think Dawn could be a model?" A distinct note of jealousy punctuated the indignant redhead's question.

"Hypothetically, Willow. I could list a half-dozen of the women I know who could be." He leaned close to her ear. "Please don't be offended, though, that you happen to be at the top of that list."

Dawn scowled. "Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"I thought—and still think—it's cool."

"But you know that 99 of our profession die ambiguously and dirt poor."

Again, Dawn shrugged. "You seem to be doing fine."

"For now." He looked intently at his younger friend. "Could your decision have had anything o do with the fact that_ I _chose this profession?"

"It could have," Dawn answered suspiciously. "But, then again, I do love the mystery."

"Mysteries can be solved. And then what?"

"Are you trying to convince me to learn another trade, Xander? It won't work."

"If I was any kind of friend, Dawnie, I should have tried to change your mind from the outset." He shook his head. "My...ego prevented me from doing so. But, no, I want you to complete your studies and make a name in this business."

"So why the down-talk?"

"Because I want to make a point. We give up quite a bit to do what we love. But the fact that we love the mysteries, the hidden facts and secret chambers, the lives of people long dead... the fact that we love it all, God help us, makes it worthwhile.

"But loving the world of the past means that we have a certain obligation to protect it. You are correct... by opening Miccaotli I would give my rising star a boost to the top. In doing so, however, some of the things I love—ancient treasures, secret passages, mysteries—would be irreversibly violated.

"You know me, Dawn. You know that I tell something like it is. You know that I don't baby-talk anyone on anything, unless I'm trying for a laugh. And you know that, when I say something, I always mean it. Always." He let out a long breath. "Even if I don't like what I'm saying."

During the course of Xander's speech, Willow had felt herself captivated. Listening to Xander talk passionately on something he cared about... the experience was, well, surreal.

"On the other hand, Xander," the redhead sighed "you've always got a place as a motivational speaker."

Her friend's mood broke instantly. "My name's Matt Foley," he said in a cracking, falsetto voice. "And I live in a van DOWN BY THE RIVER!"

The women chuckled at Xander's uncanny Chris Farley imitation. "So I suppose your mind is made up about this?" Dawn couldn't resist asking.

"For now, the Street of the Dead will remain sealed. For now."

"Gabriel, my friend, I am sorry. Unless some new bit of intrigue comes up, this expedition is finished." Mihalsky held out his hands apologetically. "My hands are tied."

"Yes, I'm sure they are, Ivan. I believe you've represented us as best you can... but I know how our benefactors love results."

Mihalsky snorted. "May we get to the real issue?"

Renneaux looked confused. "And that is... what?"

"Miccaotli." Mihalsky's hoarse voice and lined, aristocratic face betrayed no emotion as the single word escaped his cracked lips. "The Way of the Gods."

Renneaux shrugged. "The main road to the Sun Pyramid. What of it."

The other man laughed. "Please do not act stupid, Gabriel. You know what I'm talking about."

Renneaux scratched his bearded chin. "I do not have to act stupid, Ivan, to not comprehend your meaning."

"The last time we were here, our teacher opened the Way of the Gods. You went inside it. Then, out of his stupidity and arrogance, he sealed the chamber again."

"Ivan," Renneaux asked in a concerned voice "are you certain this is not something you have dreamed? My memories tell me nothing of this."

"And now, sixty years later, Gabriel, now you have the ability to open Miccaotli again. You have the power to reveal it's secrets."

Renneaux laughed sadly and shook his head. "Once again you are mistaken. How can I open something that is not there?"

The shorter man's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You mistake me for a fool..."

"And you are."

"...But do not believe that _I_ will leave the chamber unopened. I have not come to cancel your team's funding. I have come to dismiss _you_." Mihalsky grinned triumphantly. "And then who will open the Way of the Gods?"

Renneaux shrugged. "Very well. This climate aggravates my arthritis." He smiled at the other man. "Goodbye, Ivan."

"I'm coming with you." Xander's desperate statement drew a chuckle from his mentor.

"I thought you would say that."

Most of Renneaux's things had been shipped back to Sunnydale the previous day, leaving the old archeologist with a small duffel bag. Mihalsky was already revamping the methods of the dig, changing Renneaux's careful excavation into a major blast zone.

"You owe me no loyalty, Alexander, although I did not believe that you would work for Mihalsky. Not that you would wish to stick around," the old man winked slyly. "Government forces are already on the way to halt Ivan's... more destructive methods."

"Should we warn Gladstone?" Xander was fond of the enthusiastic young genius. He was a good kid, really, and Xander didn't want his younger friend's reputation to be damaged any more than his own.

"By all means. Warn him that Ivan is a corrupt fraud. Warn him that the authorities are going to act against him very soon. Do not advise him of what to do, Alexander. It is his decision."

"I'll see you on campus, Dr. Renneaux."

"Goodbye, Alexander." They shook hands before Xander's teacher left in the helicopter.

"Now to get the hell outta dodge," grumbled Xander as he replaced his hat.

"We need to talk." Belongings packed and key safely tucked in his vest, Xander turned to face Dawn.

"Anything specific?" Dawn could be either a scatterbrain or a genius, depending on the situation and Xander intuitively knew that this discussion would showcase the latter quality.

"Your love life."

Xander frowned; this wasn't something he enjoyed talking about with with _anyone_, much less the girl who'd harbored a crush on him for several years. "That's a tricky subject."

"No, it's really not." Dawn's t-shirt/shorts ensemble neatly showcased her mature figure, a figure that would have sent most men drooling. To Xander, however, Dawn was as much a sister as a friend. Hence, weirdness. 

Her features changed into a provocative stare. "Do you find me attractive?"

"Not to dash any hopes, Dawn, but you're like my..."

"Yes or no. Do you find me attractive?"

Xander swallowed. "Yes."

"Are you available?"

"I really don't like where this is..."

"Xander..."

"Yes. And no."

She nodded sagely. "I thought so. Why no?"

"That's... personal."

"I'm gonna feel insulted if you're making someone up, Xander."

He looked at her pleadingly. "You know who."

"Yes, I do know who." She regarded him with a sympathetic, if impatient, look. "I also know why you can still answer 'yes' to the last question as well."

Xander shook his head. "When did you get so smart?"

"When you weren't looking." The sing-song voice was back; she'd already cracked him. "When you were busy looking at Willow."

He winced, holding a finger to his lips. "Are you _trying_ to ruin my life?"

"I'm 'trying' to make it better. You don't want to lose her. You think that, as long as you're living together platonically, your relationship is safe." She shook her head. "If you want more, you're gonna have to take the risk."

"Dawn... Willow is the one person I know who's remained constantly in my life. I think... I think we're _too_ close to take the next step."

"All I'm saying, Xander, is that if you saw how she looks at you... well, how _I_ used to look at you... you wouldn't hesitate to sweep her off her feet."

He snorted incredulously while studying at a spot somewhere between his feet. "I will not put the closest relationship in my life in harm's way. I can't, Dawn." He looked up suddenly with watering eyes. "If I lose Willow, Dawn, I lose everything."

"You can't lose this time. She's known you for... what? 20-something years? And she's still in love with you after all that time?" Dawn smiled helpfully. "It doesn't take a genius like you—like _both_ of you—to see that you're supposed to be together."

"In the past I never believed that anything was meant to be. Living in Sunnydale gave me more than my share of disappointments and... I became kinda cynical." She snickered. "Can you imagine? Me? Cynical?" She shook her head sadly. "The point is, whenever I see you guys together, whenever I see how much you love each other (and refuse to diagnose the same symptoms in each other)... it makes me believe again." A tear slipped down the younger woman's face. "And I refuse to let insecurities and worrying mess up the one relationship that could involve true happiness."

Xander nodded dumbly. Again, Dawn smiled sympathetically before kissing her formerly-oblivious friend on the cheek. Then, rising silently, Dawn walked out of his tent.

"You're crazy."

Inwardly the young woman groaned. What was meant to be was taking a lot of effort on her part.

"You're too close to this one, Willow. Trust me?"

The redhead sighed in defeat. "With my life. Or, in this case, with my heart."

"Then here is the plan..."

"In other news, several high-ranking members of the Teotihuacan expedition have resigned in the last few days, among them project leaders Dr. Gabriel Renneaux and Dr. Alexander Harris. The reason for their resignations is unclear as of now, but sources on the inside suggest that changes in the excavation methods were at least mostly responsible for their departure. In the aftermath of the hierarchy shift, officials have professed an interest in monitoring the privately-funded expedition more carefully. Stocks rose higher on Wall Street as the..."

"Two times on NPR, Xander!" enthused Willow. "You could become famous if you're not careful."

"Yes, Xander Harris. Celebrity," the dark-haired man scoffed. "It does have a ring to it."

Maybe someone else could have a ring as well, the screenwriter smiled. "As long as it doesn't go to your head."

"It won't have a chance to, Wills. Obscurity is the only way to go."

The redhead laughed. "Now he tells me."

"Renneaux and myself will probably be blacklisted, Willow. Our... sponsors were powerful people. Even if Mihalsky gets nailed by the Mexican police, we'll be the ones who get the fall."

"How?"

"Well, they can try. I believe that the testimony of the majority of workers would clear us... but Mihalsky's people will still try to bring us down."

"So you spend your life as a carpenter. It's not so bad."

Xander laughed. "Do you know what the worst part is, Willow? I'm a very good carpenter. But I love archeology."

Willow shrugged. "Que sera, sera."

He smiled. "What will be, will be." Xander shook his head. "Let it be."

"Let it be?"

"Let it be."

"Oh, let it be."

"Speaking words of wisdom..."

"Let it beeee." The redhead finished their musical interlude with a falsetto note and laughed. Leaning against Xander's shoulders, Willow whispered to herself.

"You don't know how appropriate that is."

"_When Harry Met Sally_, huh?"

"What can I say. Rob Reiner is my hero." Xander adopted his shame face and shrugged.

She laughed. "Can we start it already?"

"Well, I can." He pressed the remote's play button, leaning back on their couch. To Xander's surprise, the redhead nestled into his chest.

Unapologetically.

There's worse arrangements, Harris, a voice from inside called out. And maybe this time will be different. 

"I love you."

A blonde woman came into view, an indignant expression spread angrily across her face. "What?"

"I love you."

She made an incredulous noise. "How do you expect me to respond to this?"

He was pleading now. "How about you love me too?"

She shook her head. "How about I'm leaving."

Xander laughed, drawing a glare from the girl leaning against his shoulder. "What?"

"How did Billy Crystal end up with Meg Ryan in this? In what alternate universe is he any prize?"

She shook her head. "Men. It's not all about looks, Xander."

"Obviously."

"Shush. This is the best part."

The fast talking man on the screen spoke again. "Well, how about this way. I love that you get cold when it's seventy degrees outside. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend a day with you I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night." He swallowed. "And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Years Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

"Willow?"

She glared at him. "What, Xander?"

"You're saying the lines to yourself. You do know this, right?"

She didn't know, but it didn't matter. "Why is this relevant?"

"Because _I _ love that about you."

"Don't make fun of my favorite movie."

"I was being serious."

The movie seemed to grow louder, despite the fact that neither turned the volume up. "Yeah, it only took three months."

"Twelve years and three months." It was Willow's turn to snicker.

"What?"

"Nothing." The hell it was nothing, she thought. With Xander, it was _twenty_ years and three months. And counting. "I'll be right back."

Xander's eyes narrowed slightly as she rose. Miss her already, don't ya? 

She walked quickly out of the room with a nervous glance over her shoulder. Let's hope this works. 

I love her. 

Although not exactly a revelation, the words put together cast a whole new light on his thoughts. Xander smiled whimsically at his realization.

"I love her," he whispered aloud, mostly for himself.

Unbidden, music began playing from their surround-sound speaker system.

_It's been a long year,_

_Since you've been gone._

_I've been alone here_

_I've grown old._

_I fall to pieces, I'm falling_

_Fell to pieces, and I'm still falling..._

_Every time I'm falling down_

_All alone I fall to pieces_

_I keep a journal of memories_

_I'm feeling lonely, I can't breathe_

_I fall to pieces, I'm falling_

_Fell to pieces and I'm still... falling_

_All the years I've tried_

_With more to go_

_Will the memories die_

_I'm waiting._

_Will I find you?_

_Can I find you?_

_We're falling down._

_I'm falling..._

As the music entered a crescendo of guitar and drums, Xander noticed that Willow had returned.

With _the _dress.

The song slowly faded away as the redhead sensuously grinned at Xander. There was something different about her. Either something about the way she walked, or the black gown she now wore... or maybe it was just that, finally, everything clicked for the couple.

Xander opened and closed his mouth several times in a valiant effort to formulate some semblance of a coherent thought. She gracefully crossed the distance between them, moving a finger to his lips—a gesture at once familiar and delightfully new. She smiled again.

"Sometimes when you're falling to pieces, Alexander Harris..." And then she kissed him.

Although neither was a stranger to the art of the kiss, the great familiarity and understanding the two shared briefly entangled their effort in a bizarre feeling of discomfort. Passion won out quickly, though, as the kiss deepened, blossomed... and, ultimately, was broken.

"Your mouth does the sweetest thing."

Xander sat back, wide-eyed. "Look at me," the redhead commanded.

He turned his head. "You know how I feel, XanderYou've known for some time. And," she continued quickly "I know that you love me."

Xander nodded dumbly. Let it be true! 

"Sometimes love needs a bit of a push, Xander. Or, in our case, a shove off a cliff."

"Taking the lovers' leap, huh Willow?_"_

"Are you coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it. I love you, Willow Rosenburg. You... you make my heart glad."

The redhead exhaled suddenly, drawing a smirk from Xander. "What was that?"

She shook her head. "Until just now, I really didn't know."

"Know what?"

"That you loved me."

He stared at her, blank-faced. "So..."

"So we owe Dawn big time."

He smiled. "Yeah."

"Now kiss me again, Dr. Harris.

EPILOGUE

Daylight again struggled to break across the town of Sunnydale, California, as the inexplicable mist lifted from the desert settlement.

In a tasteful apartment, a baby cried.

"Go back to sleep, dearest. I'll handle Everett." Giles glanced at his watch. Nearly 5:00. Well, that _was_ an improvement. The bespectacled new father cradled his child contentedly.

"You can thank your mother for the insomnia, little one," he sighed as the child cooed.

Across town in the Summers' home, Spike was smiling.

"Ready for the big day, luv?"

His girlfriend smiled brightly as she leaned into his chest.

"Always have been."

Down the stairs, a college girl was watching the morning news over a bowl of Lucky Charms.

"In a related story, the local paparazzi have been unable to ascertain the exact date and time of the upcoming nuptials. Rumors throughout the town suggest soon—today even—yet the only people who would know aren't talking. A close friend was quoted as saying that..."

Dawn smiled. "Damn right we're not talking."

The chapel was bright and simple, elegant and ordinary all at once. A handsome, dark-haired man stood beside the aged priest, flanked on one side by an array of dashingly handsome men and on another by several dazzling young women.

The organ picked up rapidly as the center of attention (a veiled woman draped in white)approached the altar. She walked with confidence and grace, poised and appealing at the same time.

The minister smiled and said the blessing.

"You may now kiss the bride."

"You know," Giles was saying with a tender slur in his voice "I always knew it would come down to this. It's the... the one prediction that came true." His eyes fell out of focus briefly and the younger, blonder man beside him held out a supporting arm. Giles looked at him with gratitude.

"Thank you Spike... I do believe I've had a bit much to drink." A burst of laughter accentuated the Englishman's vast understatement.

"There, there," consoled his companion mischievously. "Let's get you another round, eh, Rupie?"

"Oh, yes... rather..." agreed the semi-conscious former librarian. "Drinks on the bloody house and all that?"

"Er... sure."

In another corner of the ballroom, Dawn chuckled mercilessly at the predicament her mentor was getting in. "At this rate he won't be able to think straight for a week."

"He won't be missing anything," Anya laughed. "Trust me, newborns don't allow for much straight thinking anyways. Don't ever have children."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The members of Dingo had finished playing their set and began drifting through the small crowd. Oz, finding his love, bowed theatrically low. The couple began to glide elegantly across the dance floor as a soft love song echoed through the building.

"These people are so weird."

"So why did you want to come?"

"Because they were at our wedding." The brunette looked happily at the ring around her fourth finger. "And... because I love them in all their weirdness."

"You're weird."

"But you still love me."

"Touche." The gently swaying couple kissed passionately as the song reached its crescendo.

Across the room an elderly, bespectacled man filled glass with an exotic punch from the fountain. Studying the apparatus intently, he never heard the soft footsteps of the short woman behind him. Beautiful in the classical sense, she resembled a matron who, although past her prime, still retained the ability to command whatever room she occupied. This aura alerted the short man that he had company.

"And who might this be?" Her voice, although difficult to describe, was distinctive enough to never be forgotten. Light and dark, rich and at the same time insubstantial, its sound fell somewhere between the range of a spring rain and a fall night. "Gabriel?"

Renneaux started, turning quickly with a grin lit across his unusual features. "Marie?"

It was her. The brilliant stock of red hair had grayed and the face had more wrinkles, but it was certainly the same person. "Marie Rosenburg?"

"The same. Gabriel, I did not know you lived..."

"I did not either." Flustered, the academic stammered on. "Know that you lived here... either. Marie..."

She slapped him. "No."

Smarting and immediately drawn back into the routine, Renneaux rubbed his cheek indignantly. "I did not say anything."

"Were you thinking it?"

"Yes."

She slapped him again. "Then, no."

"What was I thinking?"

"That you would like to get me to bed. Again."

"Then you shouldn't have slapped me."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

She did it again, albeit softer. "Oops. My hand slipped."

"I was thinking that we should have married fifty years ago," complained the agitated scholar. "Perhaps I should stop talking."

"Perhaps so," agreed Marie as she moved to kiss her once and future lover.

"Dude," breathed Devon to his bassist. "The old French people are gettin' dirty."

"Duude," agreed his bandmate. "Totally."

A different song began to echo through the hall as the dance floor cleared.

_Well, here we are againI guess it must be fateWe've tried it on our ownBut deep inside we've knownWe'd be back to set things straightI still remember whenYour kiss was so brand newEvery memory repeatsEvery step I take retreatsEvery journey always brings me back to you_

Worlds apart from the celebrations surrounding them, a single couple danced across the checkered dance floor. The single beam of light brilliantly illuminated the pair, contrasting their radically different outfits in an unusual and beautiful way.

_Two angels who've been rescued from the fallAfter all that we've been throughIt all comes down to me and youI guess it's meant to beForever you and meAfter all_

Willow smiled into her husband's shoulder as the gently rocked to the music. Ordinarily the song would have been completely wrong for a slow dance (it wasn't, after all, a slow song), but tonight, as the single beam set the lovers in another world... tonight, as the redhead danced with

the man she loved... tonight, everything was perfect.

_When love is truly rightIt lives from year to yearIt changes as it goesAnd on the way it growsBut it never disappears_

The music slowed and, an eternity later, silenced completely as the couple snapped back into the world. Looking into his new wife's eyes, the dark-haired man flashed his patented Xander-smile. As one the couple moved close, searching for the perfect kiss. Finding it in one another's lips, a tumultuous clap went up from the surrounding crowd of friends, family, and well-wishers.

_After all the stops and startsWe keep coming back to these two heartsTwo angels who've been rescued from the fallAfter all that we've been throughIt all comes down to me and youI guess it's meant to beForever you and meAfter all_

The newlyweds walked purposefully over to their closest friends. Anya, predictably, was the first to speak.

"May your children be prettier than ours."

"Dear!" Giles, only mildly offended at his wife's expression of goodwill, looked at his younger friends. "I must say, bloody well done."

"You know, Giles," quipped Buffy with a wink at her sister. "You're looking a little tipsy."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, a man can't drink at his children's wedding? Adopted, that is," he added quickly in preparation for a bad joke.

Willow laughed. "If our 'father' takes a cab home."

"No, I'll drive him." Anya smiled at her husband's predicament. He, on the other hand, blanched.

"Yes, perhaps a taxi would be nice..." He smiled happily at the two. "You have my congratulations and my wishes for a life-long and happy marriage. My only complaint is that, by waiting so long to take this step, you've forfeited lots of valuable time." Waving a merry goodbye, Giles found himself being dragged off by his wife.

"I love you all," she said irately. "But he's very... fun when drunk."

"Oh... bloody hell." Spike shuddered as they disappeared through the door. Buffy nudged him sharply in the ribs.

"Ow... why'd you have to... oh, right. Ahem," he cleared his throat. "Not to steal the spotlight from the lovebirds, but Blondie and me've got an, err, important announcement."

Joyce covered her ears. "Mom, what's the matter?" inquired Dawn. "Don't you want to hear?"

"He's probably gotten her pregnant or something," shuddered Joyce. Buffy rolled her eyes.

"No, but he has gotten me engaged." Her mother was saved from hitting the floor only by the quick reflexes of her youngest daughter.

As the pair of former-supernatural creatures walked away, Dawn smiled at her friends. "I love you guys," she squealed before carrying her still-comatose mother away.

Xander smiled at his best friend turned true love. "Where to?"

Willow shrugged in his arms. "Second star to the right... and straight on 'till morning."

"Ooh... kinky." Playfully punching her husband's shoulder, Willow accepted his outstretched arm. The star-crossed lovers ventured through their friends, out the tall doors... walking to a future of love and happiness.

And in the still, serene silence of the night, a voice could just barely be heard in the distance:

"I guess it's meant to be forever, you and me.... after all."


End file.
